


Fire and Rescue

by kedgeree



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Dogs, Firefighters, Inception Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2016, M/M, No Animals Harmed, Romance, Shirtless!Eames, puppy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedgeree/pseuds/kedgeree
Summary: After a fire at the dog shelter, Arthur and Ariadne desperately need to raise funds. The local firefighters generously volunteer their time and nakedness to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [involuntaryorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/involuntaryorange/gifts).



> Thank you involuntaryorange for your inspiring artwork and thank you IRB mods!
> 
> No animals harmed!

 

It's seven o'clock and Arthur is leaving his laptop at work.

Arthur never leaves his laptop at work, but tonight he's leaving his laptop at work, because tonight is the first date he's had in almost a year. And if things on this first date he's had in a year go well— _really well_ —he might not be needing his laptop later.

He hadn't quite been able to part with his suits when he left the city and tonight he's glad. He's changed in his office at the shelter into his best _look-at-my-ass_ three-piece Zegna. Which he's wearing over his _look-even-closer-at-my-ass_ black Armani boxer briefs.

After all, what's the harm in a little foolish optimism?

 

***

 

It's nine-thirty, and Arthur is walking alone back to the shelter to pick up his laptop. The summer night is mocking him with twinkling stars and a warm, romantic breeze, and he's carrying a little plastic takeout carton with a piece of cherry cheesecake that he now expects to be the highlight of his evening.

The harm in a little foolish optimism is that it's _foolish_ , and Arthur should really know better by now than to allow himself to be foolish.

" _This Merlot is erring on the tart side_ ," he mutters to himself. He might be exaggerating the sneer, but it's still a pretty good impression, Arthur thinks. He's nailed the supercilious drawl. Who the fuck sends back the wine at Lilly's? Sure, it's the nicest restaurant in Marion, but…it's _Lilly's_. Pompous ass. Arthur sighs. It had been a nice ass. He shakes his head and smirks. Erring on the tart side, just like Arthur, apparently. If only the guy had—

Why are the stars _moving_?

Arthur stops walking and frowns.

Why are the stars _red_?

And there's a weird, flickery orange light. Coming from—shelter—

The plastic container with the cherry cheesecake breaks open on the sidewalk.

And Arthur _RUNS_.

 

***

_911._

_Front, lobby, flames._

_Around. Back gate. Back door. Not hot._

_Keys. Keys._

A single broken sob is the only relief Arthur allows himself when he sees the fire hasn't reached the kennels.

_Power, off, dark._

_Hallway, smoke. Fire extinguisher, inaccessible._

_Shut interior door, fire door._

_Dogs to fenced outdoor run. Two by two._

_Calm. Stay calm. For them._

_And go. Two by two._

_Go._

_And again._

_And again._

_Just go._

There is shouting now. Red light flashing against the dark trees. Arthur's pulse is pounding. Sweat stings his eyes. The back of his throat tastes like ash. Somewhere, there is glass breaking.

_Head count._

_Twenty-three. Yes._

_Again. Make sure. Head count._

_Twenty-two._

_Twenty_ _…two._

An impossible, icy hand reaches out of the fire and clutches Arthur's heart.

_The puppy._

He's hurtling toward the back door, _go go go_ pounding in time with the strike of his heels, when it bursts open in his face. Arthur's field of vision fills with looming, sooty yellow, the shape of a helmet, this hiss from a mask, some sort of fire-formed nightmare melding of Darth Vader and Big Bird. That is _in his way_.

"Move!" Arthur snarls, lowering a shoulder to push past.

Then he sees the small ball of grey tucked into the… _firefighter's_ arms.

"Oh!" he gasps, his vision suddenly blurry as he reaches for the puppy, cradles her small, trembling body against his chest.

A gloved hand grips his shoulder.

"Are there others?" the firefighter asks urgently, looking past Arthur's shoulder to the pen with the rest of the distraught-but-safe dogs. "Where are the others?"

"Twenty-three," Arthur says, blinking up at the mask. His voice is too high. Shaky. "Twenty-three. That's all of them. All safe. We're okay. We're okay."

The hand on his shoulder tightens painfully, and the firefighter's head dips down. Then the hand is gone, and the mask orders Arthur to _stay back_ before disappearing back into the black of the shelter.

Arthur backs away slowly.

"We're okay," he tells the small, shaking bundle in his arms as he backs slowly away, then stands there in the surreal orange-tinted darkness in his ruined best suit, watching sparks float up and away toward the stars. He buries his face in the puppy's short fur. Kisses her soft little head, over and over. "We're okay."

 

***

_"_ _—remains to be seen whether this was the result of an accident or some sort of dangerous negligence. The shelter's owner and manager appear to be on-scene, let's—uff!"_

_"So sorry. Do pardon me."_

_"Oh. Yes! Of course! No, um_ _…here's one of the very hands—heroic firefighters responding to this terrible, terrible situation. What can you tell us about the fire? What was the cause? Is it under control? Have there been injuries?"_

_"Well_ _…Jessica, isn't it?"_

_"Jessica Summerfield. WMAR News."_

_"Well, Jessica, we can't comment on the cause at this point. I'm just happy to say there were no injuries either to the shelter staff or to any of the dogs. Everyone is safe and sound."_

_"If that is in fact the case, no doubt the thanks goes to you. The brave heroes of the Marion Fire Department. Tell me_ _…how fortunate are these dogs that you got here in time to heroically prevent a true tragedy?"_

_"Ah, please, let's have none of this 'heroically' bollocks. Can I say 'bollocks' on your telly?"_

_"We, uh, are live."_

_"Oh, dear, are we? I shall strive to be a bit less naughty. But as far as 'heroism,' we're all just doing our jobs. In fact, the shelter staff—"_

_"Your brave, heroic jobs. Mister_ _…"_

_"Er, Eames."_

_"Mister Eames."_

_"Just Eames_ _…Jessica."_

_"Just Eames it is then. And there you have it. A tragedy narrowly averted by the fast action of the Marion Fire Department. And Eames—"_

_"It was really—"_

_"The Hero of the Marion Shelter Fire. Live for WMAR News at the Marion Rescue Shelter, I'm Jessica Summerfield."_

 

***

 

"Who even _is_ this guy?" Arthur scowls at the screen of his new laptop.

In the background of the video, a blanket-draped Arthur sits huddled on the back bumper of an ambulance, clutching the grey puppy. Ariadne is leaning against his shoulder. Stroking his arm, although Arthur doesn't remember that part. As petite as Ariadne is, beside her Arthur looks about twelve years old and completely lost.

"He's _Eames_. The _Hero_ of the Marion Shelter Fire," Ariadne says with breathy, exaggerated awe.

"He's _flirting_ with her. He's _English_."

"So I've heard." Ariadne's voice switches back into its usual sweetly dry tone. She slouches further into Arthur's sofa, propping her bunny-slippered feet up on Arthur's coffee table, and re-settles her own laptop on her thighs. "About seven times now. Stop watching it if it bothers you so much."

The warm weight on Arthur's foot shifts and _rrffs_ softly from underneath his desk.

Arthur clicks _play_ again. "He doesn't _bother_ me."

On-screen, the Hero of the Marion Shelter Fire bumps into Jessica Summerfield, pulls off his helmet. And is that…slow motion? Did they make the part where he shakes sweat out of his hair slow motion? It looks like slow motion.

Jessica Summerfield closes her mouth. Her raspberry-colored sleeve shoots out to jam her microphone under Eames's stubbled chin and coy smile.

"He's hot, though," Ariadne says vaguely, her attention focused on whatever she's typing. "Isn't he?"

"He definitely seems to think so," sniffs Arthur.

Ariadne glances up at Arthur's screen. "So does Jessica Summerfield. She practically has cartoon hearts in her eyes."

"He's practically a cartoon." Arthur grunts derisively, and the sound is echoed from the vicinity of his foot, followed by a sneeze.

A grey puppy face, forehead wrinkled with a vague sort of concern, pokes out from under Arthur's desk. The same look of concern that's been present since the fire.

"See?" he says, reaching down to scritch behind one of her velvety ears. "Edith agrees."

"Or she has to pee," Ariadne says dryly, but her look at the puppy is immensely fond. "You're really going with 'Edith'?"

"What's wrong with 'Edith'? It has dignity."

"Yeah, for my great aunt."

"Well, _she_ likes it."

Edith topples over to show them her belly, then looks up at them between her legs like she's confused as to why she's suddenly upside-down.

"She's a dignified creature, all right."

"But, really." Arthur moves his scritches to Edith's tummy. "Why didn't couldn't they interview Chief Cobb instead? I mean, he's right there. And _he_ was at my preparedness drills. But, no, they talk to this random Eames guy just because he's wandering by and he's…" Arthur waves a hand at the screen. "Like that."

Edith grunts.

"See, Edith agrees again."

"I thought he didn't bother you," Ariadne smirks.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "That's not the point. _Cobb_ would have treated the whole thing more seriously."

"I don't think he'd have a choice. Not sure he actually has a sense of humor."

" _He's_ kind of hot," Arthur points out. It comes out sounding a little defiant.

"Ugh. No, he isn't. Did you not hear what I just said about a sense of humor?" Ariadne's nose wrinkles. "So I guess you aren't seeing that Philip guy again."

"Ahhh, no. Definitely not."

"What's wrong with him? Teeny weenie?"

"Please never say 'weenie' again in that context. And—not that it would have mattered—but I did not assess said 'weenie.'"

"I thought you might at least…" Ariadne makes a lewd gesture.

"Ew. Also never do that again. He sent back the Merlot."

Ariadne's snort is appropriately incredulous. "At _Lilly's_?"

"I know, right? Let's see. Animated films are only for kids."

"But—"

"Right? Don't get me started," Arthur huffs. "Um, his favorite author is Ayn Rand."

Ariadne cringes.

"He pronounced 'Van Gogh' with the phlegm and _then_ said his work is for 'common tastes.' And then he showed me a _real_ work of art—a picture of his car."

"Oh, god. Wait. I bet it was red. And shiny."

"It was indeed red. And very shiny."

"So _definitely_ a teeny weenie."

"And not even a sense of humor about it," Arthur smirks.

Ariadne's bunny slipper ears wiggle as she chuckles. "Well, see there? That at least settles the question of whether or not you're allowed to have any interest in wretchedly humorless individuals like—"

Ariadne's phone rings and her eyebrows fly up when she answers.

"Chief Cobb!"

She tosses Arthur a wicked look.

Edith wriggles under Arthur's hand. He lets her up and she grunts her way upright.

"No, no, we're working out of Arthur's place for now."

Ariadne's smile dims.

"Yeah, it's been pretty rough. The clean-up isn't even done and Arthur's been working on wrangling the insurance people, but…well, never mind. What can we do for you?"

Arthur leans forward, trying to make out Cobb's muffled voice as Ariadne listens intently for a long time, until she suddenly claps a hand over her mouth. Her eyes fly to Arthur's.

"Oh my god! That would be amazing!"

Edith looks back and forth between them with apprehension. "Rrf?"

 

***

 

Arthur ducks into the little courtyard between Clarendon and Knox and tries to pull himself together. He sits, sets the coffees that were his excuse for fleeing the house down on the bench beside him, and takes a deep breath.

_Naked firefighters_.

Elbows on his knees, Arthur drops his head into his hands and makes a weird, garbled laughing sound.

He and Ariadne have been putting a brave face on it. They've been keeping each other's spirits up. They've been keeping up their regular work hours at Arthur's house like the whole thing is just a minor inconvenience. The shelter would be back in business very soon.

But it wasn't reality.

The entire front face of the shelter is gone, all their office equipment, the kitchen, the lobby, all their supplies, all their donated blankets and food and toys for the dogs. The insurance company's been short-changing every reimbursement and in the meantime the shelter's funds are draining fast. They've overloaded a few foster volunteers with some of their now-homeless dogs, and their neighboring county shelter has found temporary accommodations for the rest, but neither has the means for longer-term housing. Arthur can't stop worrying, can't stop picturing their trusting, furry faces. Are they okay? Are they being taken care of _properly_?

It's not Arthur's fault, but still _he knows that it is_. He's the shelter _manager_. It's his _responsibility_ to keep the place _in business_. That's what Ariadne hired him for, with his MBA and his Big 5 resume, his financial plans and his attention to detail, and all he could do in the end was burn the place half to the ground, and there must have been something he could have done _better_.

Chief Cobb and his crew's offer of assistance is so extraordinarily generous that Arthur…well, he doesn't even know how to process it. And he knows he should be feeling nothing but gratitude— _all proceeds to the Marion Rescue Shelter_ —but what he feels like is a failure. A big, helpless, no-control failure. He should have been able to handle this, shouldn't need…

Naked firefighters.

He's seen them before, of course, mostly on the Internet: sexy firefighter calendars for charity. He's definitely _appreciated_ some of the photos. And now they're apparently going to have their very own, with a bachelor auction on top of it, and how fucking bizarre is _that_?

But it could save them, and for that, Arthur is _so_ grateful.

He takes another deep breath, picks up the coffees, and heads for home. Schedules to plan, spreadsheets to revise.

 

***

 

"Oh my god, look at them." Beaming, Ariadne hugs the clipboard with the schedule Arthur's made to her chest, covering up the words PUSSY WRANGLER emblazoned on her t-shirt. "They're so happy."

Arthur can't help but take a moment to grin along with her, even though there are something like a _million_ things to do right now. But Daphne and Velma are chasing Bucky Barnes around some big rocks, Henry and Clare are nipping playfully at each other's ears, Bruce Wayne has pink flower petals stuck in his tail, Jean-Luc Picard is chasing a bee, and it's _so good_ to see them all again.

Well, the twelve Arthur's borrowed from their temporary home at the Berenger shelter for the day's shoot, wishing he could bring them _all_. Plus Edith, who is pressed against his calf, watching the goings-on with a worried, faintly disapproving look.

"Just don't let them get too dirty," Arthur cautions. "The brushes are in the—"

"The blue thing next to the crates, I know."

"And the poop bags are—"

"In the green thing, I know."

"Does Mal need anything?"

Ariadne gaze drifts over to their photographer, who is setting up a tripod near the big rocks. "Me," she sighs dreamily. "Isn't she beautiful?"

"Yes, gorgeous, amazing, a goddess, but does she need any help setting up her _equipment_."

"I will be more than happy to go check on her equipment. And offer any and all assistance she—oh, here comes Cobb and company."

Arthur glances over his shoulder just as he hears a boisterous shout from the wooded trail leading from the parking lot.

"I'd better poop check now," Ariadne says, heading toward the dog crates.

"I think I saw Vin Diesel leave something by the azaleas," Arthur calls helpfully after her as the group of firefighters emerges into the sunlight. Most of them are dressed in shorts and t-shirts, gear slung over their shoulders, laughing and clapping each other on the backs and being generally manly and—oh.

Tattoos.

"ARP!"

Arthur starts, his attention wrenched away from a black-swirled bicep. "Edith!?"

She's already gone, bounding across the grass for all her stubby legs are worth toward the firefighters.

"What the—?"

By the time Arthur catches up, she's apparently felled one of them—the one with no shirt and the tattoos and the _arms_ is rolling on the grass with her and…oh, god. Of _course_ it's that _Eames_ guy. Of course it is.

Grinning up at Arthur from the ground. "Hello again…Point Man!"

Arthur blinks. It takes him a moment to remember his shirt, which does in fact, thanks to Ariadne, proclaim him to be the POINT MAN in charge of PUPPY WRANGLING.

"This ferocious beast of yours seems to be wrangling _me_." Eames has grass stuck in his hair and Edith half-caged, squirming happily, between his knees. He holds a hand up and out to Arthur. "Give us tug?"

"Um."

Eames chuckles, arm still extended, and winks. "Off the ground?"

"Oh," Arthur says. "Right."

Arthur takes Eames's hand and hauls him to his feet. And he's not going to stare at the tattoos—a tribal design over one shoulder. A pair of crossed axes, a half-sleeve of inter-spiraled fire and water. Some script in maybe, what is that, Latin? A mask and a black-winged bird in flight and—

"Hello," Eames says again, sounding faintly amused, and Arthur jerks his eyes up.

"Hi."

And there's something…not just the arms or the mouth or the warm, laughing eyes, something else. Arthur frowns, and just for a moment, out of nowhere, he smells smoke. Somewhere in the back of his mind, hazy darkness and looming yellow.

The punch of memory hits him.

"Darth Big Bird!" he blurts at Eames.

"Ah?" Eames's eyebrows rise. "Sorry?"

Arthur can't believe what an idiot he is. Well, yeah, he can always believe he's an idiot, but how could he not have put that together until now? Sure, the whole night was kind of a blur, but as many times as he's watched that stupid video…the larger-than-life firefighter with Edith in his arms. And a _British accent_. Was the video guy. Was _Eames_. "You aren't even that tall," Arthur accuses.

Eames's eyebrows go higher. "Sorry…again?"

"Oh. No. It's—I'm sorry," Arthur (what actual the fuck) stammers. _Definitely_ an idiot. He's not going to blush, though. He isn't. He can control his capillaries by force of will. "Sorry, I just—"

"Arthur! How are you?"

Arthur starts as a hand claps his shoulder. "Chief Cobb." He releases Eames's hand, which apparently he's been holding _this entire time_ , to clasp Cobb's in greeting. "Good. Great. Really. We can't thank you enough for this."

Edith cranes her neck forward, turtle-like, to give Cobb's shoe a tentative sniff.

"Our pleasure, Arthur, our pleasure," Cobb says, giving him an earnest sort of squint and a brief shoulder squeeze. "Happy we can help out. That was a bad one." Cobb switches his eyes to Eames and says dryly, "I see you're getting a head start on the topless thing."

Eames pats his chest and grins proudly. "I like to be proactive."

Edith gazes up at him adoringly. In fact, Arthur's never seen her look so untroubled, which is of course wonderful and not at all a cause for a stab of jealousy.

He focuses on Cobb.

"This calendar was a fantastic idea. And the auction, too. Lucky for us you have so many bachelors on your crew, I guess," Arthur offers, trying a smile.

"Well, that's a technicality for some of the boys," Cobb says, casting a look around at his crew, who are still chatting and laughing as they set out their gear, yellow turnout pants, suspenders. Some have brought their helmets. "And a lifelong pursuit for others," he adds dryly.

Arthur wonders which category Eames falls into. He's going to go ahead and make an educated guess it's the second. Not that it matters.

"So where do you want us?" Cobb's asking. "A few of us need to go on-shift this afternoon, I should warn you."

"Right." Arthur re-focuses on Cobb. "We do have your schedules down. I—" he looks down at his empty hands. "Dropped my clipboard when the puppy took off. But if you want to follow me, we can review with Ariadne and Mal before we get started."

"Rrrf?"

Eames scoops Edith up before Arthur can lean down for her. He nuzzles his nose underneath one of Edith's ears before he puts her in Arthur's arms. "There you are, darling."

"It's Edith, actually."

Eames winks. "I didn't mean her."

Arthur refuses to glance back over his shoulder as he walks Cobb across the park.

 

***

 

They've got a routine going.

Arthur checks his roster and calls up the next firefighter to be photographed. Ariadne fetches his paired dog while Mal checks her light readings for the next shot. And the firefighter, to the cheers and catcalls of his crew mates, makes a big show of taking off his shirt. They've even gathered a few appreciative onlookers at the fences who have started joining in the applause.

Arthur didn't know firefighter nicknames were a Thing, but apparently they are. For some ungodly reason Ariadne thought it would be "fun" if the firefighters all wore their nickname shirts and the two of them joined in with shirts of their own. She'd handed him his shirt with a mischievous grin.

"Why am I 'Point Man'?"

"Because you're always pointing out all the stuff everyone should be doing."

Arthur points Chief Cobb into place in front of the big rock.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at Ariadne as she passes by with Daphne, an elegant Golden mix whose coat matches Cobb's swept-back blond hair. Cobb's t-shirt reads THE KNOB.

"Teeeeny sense of humor," Ariadne murmurs.

Teeny sense of humor or not, Cobb seems to be a favorite with the group by the fence. There's a lot of giggling, anyway, especially after he acknowledges them with an incredibly awkward pair of finger-guns.

Next up is Saito, whose shirt reads TOURIST. They've matched him with Bruce Wayne, a sweet, big-eared, black Shepherd mix who Arthur thinks is looking especially proud and handsome today in his new yellow bandana. And speaking of proud and handsome, Saito strides over to his spot in front of the azaleas like a man on a mission, flinging his shirt off along the way and then tossing a smirk over his bare shoulder. It's pretty freaking sexy.

Christopher has big, strong-looking hands. Robert has maybe the most beautiful, longest-lashed blue eyes Arthur's ever seen outside of a Lord of the Rings movie. Peter's suspenders are leather. Black leather.

And, what? Arthur's a professional, but there are a lot of half-naked, sexy men, and he's only human. He _notices_ things, that's all.

But his notice keeps being drawn again and again by one particular half-naked man, and frankly he's starting to feel a little peeved with his eyes for the way they won't pay attention to where he's actually trying to focus his attention. Same goes for his cock.

Since Eames is already shirtless, Arthur figures at least he doesn't have to be worried about his libido being stirred up even further by a strip-tease. But Eames wants to be photographed with Edith, and it turns out that all it takes is for him to look Arthur in the eye and say, "Please?"

Arthur angles his hips away from the crowd while Edith wriggles and wags all over Eames and his bright yellow turnout pants and his…chest.

She has her paw on his mouth when Mal takes the photo.

 

***

 

A few of the guys are a little shyer when it comes time for their turn. Yusuf's been visibly psyching himself up in the background, crossing his arms experimentally over his belly. And Nash, slender and fey, is starting to look like he just wants to hide behind a tree. He's actually edging toward the woods. Arthur frowns a little for them. He's not exactly the exhibitionist type himself and he understands discomfort.

"Uh. Guys, I don't know…" Yusuf says, shuffling warily into place as his crew-mates begin to cheer him on.

It's Eames who slings an arm over Yusuf's shoulder and murmurs something in his ear that Arthur can't hear. Yusuf chuckles and nods and Eames plants a loud, wet kiss on his cheek and declares him, at volume, "The most beautiful man I've _ever_ seen."

Yusuf's cheeks have a distinctly rosy tinge when he says, "Oh, fuck it," and peels off his shirt. His smile is shy and the crew's cheers double in volume.

Nash gets love, too.

"Terribly sorry, Yusuf, but I must amend. _This_ ," Eames wraps Nash up in a double-armed hug, "is the most beautiful man I have ever seen." Nash gets a cheek kiss and a private murmur. "More beautiful than the first cuppa after a shift!" And another kiss. "More beautiful than a full jar of Nutella!"

Arthur really doesn't want to _like_ the Hero of the Marion Shelter Fire. But it appears he's not going to be able to help it.

"Get off me," Nash mumbles, grinning down at the ground while he makes no move whatsoever to get Eames off him. "You're so full of shit."

Eames ruffles his hair and gives him a gentle shove forward. "Show us something sexy then, duck!"

Nash's sigh is distinctly long-suffering. He tugs his shirt off over his head to unrestrained whoops of approval.

 

***

 

"Edith, did you say?"

"ARP!"

Arthur turns, looks down. Eames is on the ground again, legs splayed. Edith is clambering over one of his thighs. His _substantial_ thighs. He's changed out of his turnout gear into a pair of cargo shorts and an actual shirt. A shirt that reads FORGER.

"Um, yeah." Arthur frowns. "It's after a French singer"

"Edith Piaf?"

Arthur blinks. "You know her?"

"You fancy French music, then?" Eames's smile is open. Like he's sincerely interested.

"Well. A lot of different music. But, yes."

"Do you know Frànçois and the Atlas Mountains?  I saw them in—oh no!" Eames gasps, staring down at Edith.

Arthur's heart clenches for a moment, and he drops to a crouch at Eames's feet. Edith looks perfectly okay, but… "What's wrong?"

Eames gives him a woeful look. "I fear this poor dog is defective."

Edith makes a contented grunting sound, wriggling in the grass on her back.

"What are you talking about?"

"Just look," Eames exclaims. "She's clearly improperly balanced. She's fallen _right_ over." He wraps his hand over Edith's round belly and rubs, cocking a grin at Arthur. "Such a terrible tragedy, don't you think? Such a poorly-balanced dog?"

" _Urf,_ " Edith agrees.

Arthur huffs out the breath he was holding, and Eames's face falls. He leans forward over Edith and puts a warm hand on Arthur's forearm.

"Oh, darling, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's fine," Arthur shakes his head. "Really. It's just I haven't actually been around dogs all that much, so sometimes I'm just not sure…"

"But you run a dog shelter."

Arthur chuckles self-consciously. "Yeah. But that's fairly new. Ariadne's the expert. I'm just the business part." He reaches out to rub Edith's tummy. "But I can definitely tell Edith likes _you_."

"I am quite likable."

Arthur silently agrees, but he's still surprised to hear himself open up a little. "She just seems stressed out, worried, all the time, since the fire. It's nice to see her have fun."

"Dogs can…" Eames gives Arthur a cautious look. "Sometimes pick up on their owners' moods."

"I'm not her owner, though," Arthur says, stroking her soft fur. "I'm just…taking care of her. For now."

"Hm," says Eames. "Whatever shall we do with you, sweet Edie-Pea?" He gathers Edith into his arms and bumps her nose with his. Edith looks startled, then pleased. Eames makes a startled face, too. "Ohhh no." He slowly rolls backwards, Edith cradled against his chest. "Oh no, the poor balance is contagious! I've fallen! Run, Arthur, save yourself!"

Arthur shakes his head. Ridiculous. But he's smiling.

"Eames, what are you doing?" Mal calls out. She and Yusuf are walking toward the benches, carrying one of Mal's tripods.

"Trying to get Arthur to play with us," Eames calls back, tilting his head away from Edith's snuffling kisses.

"Arthur, the Drill Sergeant, play?" Yusuf snorts. "Good luck with that!"

It's good-natured, but Arthur frowns. It was only _two_ safety drills.

And he didn't know they called him that.

"I think you have the skill of playing with yourself, yes?" Mal gives Eames a smart glance. "Up. We need the back cover."

"She's right," Arthur says, rising to his feet and brushing off his hands. "We're here to work."

 

***

 

Two weeks later, Edith is nosing lackadaisically at her toy hedgehog in the shelter's former Meet & Greet room when her ears come suddenly to attention. A moment later, Arthur hears it, too—the clunk of the back door opening.

"Hello?" Arthur calls out warily. The crew's gone home for the day, and Ari's gotten her nerve up to invite Mal out to celebrate the new calendars, so it's not her.

"Arthur? Is that you?"

"ARP!"

Arthur jumps out of his chair. His pen goes flying off his desk and his half-empty coffee cup narrowly avoids a similar fate. "Eames? Um. In here."

"ARP!" Edith thumps her front paws eagerly on the puppy gate Arthur's put across the doorway. "ARP! ARP!"

Eames's crooked grin and wind-ruffled hair appear around the corner. "Hello, there, beautiful," he says warmly as he steps over the gate. He picks up Edith mid-bounce and winks at Arthur as he stands. "And hello to you, too, my sweet girl."

"Edith," Arthur corrects automatically.

"My sweet Edie-Pea." Edith squirms with delight in Eames's arms, making little grunting sounds as she licks his nose. "Who is my best girl? _You_ are my best girl."

"Um. What are you doing here?"

He gives Arthur a bright and eager look, like a kid who's just been presented with a gift. "Ariadne said the calendars are in!"

"Yep. Right here." Arthur reaches down into a box beside his desk. Eames and Ariadne talk? "They're really good."

"Sorry, pea. Need my hands." Eames drops a kiss on Edith's head and puts her down. She promptly falls over on top of his shoe.

Arthur hands him a calendar, cover-side up, where Mal's gone with the shot of Saito and Bruce Wayne.

"Oh, handsome devils!" Eames exclaims, shooting Arthur a huge smile. His eyes flick over Arthur's shoulder for a moment before he starts flipping through the calendar. "Any personal favorites out of the batch?"

_Yes._

"Not really. I think they're all great photos," Arthur says as Eames hums his appreciation through January, February, and March. His smile widens at April: Yusuf is standing proudly, arms folded, with Jean-Luc Picard seated just as proudly at his feet. "Oh, look," Eames beams. "Don't you just want to snuggle him all night?" He flips another page. There are little smears of blue paint on his blunt fingers. And a smudge of green on his arm. "Dom, you sexy beast," Eames chuckles. "Look how she's done Rob! Oh, and here's a lovely sight," he crows when he finally makes it to November and the photo of Edith in his arms. "I refer to the lady, of course."

"Of course," Arthur says, dryly amused, as flicks his eyes away from black ink over muscle and the soft look in Eames's eyes. He's pleased with how casual he sounds, moving on, "Nash is a good December, I think. Ethereal."

Eames glances up at Arthur and smirks before he flips the page. "Oh, he is indeed. He looks a bit elfin, doesn't he? Like a debauched Christmas elf."

"It must be the naughty ones who get that kind of elf."

"You wouldn't know?" teases Eames. "Not one of the naughty ones?"

"The first time since I moved here that I tried to be naughty, the building burned down," Arthur says, more flatly than he intends. Also more out loud than he intends.

"Oh." Eames blinks. "I see."

"Sorry, that was, um—" Arthur rubs the back of his neck, which feels suddenly warm. "Probably weird."

"ARP!" Edith concurs with an enthusiastic tail wag.

"So I guess you'll have to let me know how that turns out. The naughty thing."

Eames glances over Arthur's shoulder again. "Actually I'm a rather nice boy, I'll have you know. I am in fact here on a mission of utmost niceness."

"Ogling your naked crew-mates?"

"Pff," Eames waves a hand. "I can do that any time. No, Ariadne said I could take some calendars round to bookstores, the library, that sort of thing. Do a bit of product placement."

"Oh," Arthur says, surprised. "That is actually…nice."

"What did I tell you?"

Arthur gets Eames set up with two boxes of calendars, which Eames hefts like they weigh nothing, and holds the puppy gate open. "Thanks for doing this," he says as Eames steps through. He smells a little like pine. "It's a big help."

"It's no problem at all." Eames turns and glances over Arthur's shoulder again. He bites his lip. "Just one more little thing I need to ask you."

"Yeah?"

"What's the date today?"

"The seventeenth."

"Of _July_ , isn't it?"

Arthur frowns, because Eames's eyes have gone all…twinkly. Like something's funny. "Yes. Of July."

"Just checking," Eames says merrily. His glance over Arthur's shoulder is more pointed this time. "See you later, darling!"

Arthur remembers just as he turns around to look behind him.

Right.

His copy of of the Fire & Rescue calendar. Tacked to the wall. And turned to November.

Arthur stands very still—they can't see you if you don't move—and doesn't groan until he hears the back door close.

 

***

 

Of course it's Eames who's filling in for the bachelors who couldn't make it for a rehearsal.

And Arthur's insisted on a rehearsal. His knee is bouncing. You don't just _wing_ something this important.

Eames parades across the stage to a club mix of _It's Raining Men._

"Hey, y'all," Eames drawls into the mic in an imitation of either Mr. August or possibly Matthew McConaughey—they do, Arthur will admit, sound just about the same as far as he can recall from the photo shoot. "M'name's Danny, but you can can call me," Eames drops his voice and purrs, " _Daddy_."

Arthur splutters into his water bottle. The nickname on the guy's shirt had actually been _Dad_. Five kids, apparently.

Mal's photo appears on the tall projection screen: a burly man with receding hairline, a thick mustache, and Lebowski the chocolate Lab slung over his shoulders, both looking very relaxed.

"I enjoy falling asleep on the sofa during House Hunter marathons with m'hand down m'pants."

"That's _you_ , Eames," snorts Yusuf as he walks by with a stack of table linens.

"Those go in the Winners' section." Arthur points Yusuf across the room and then calls sternly to Eames, "Stick to the bio cards."

Eames either doesn't hear him or ignores him. He's clearly enjoying his crew mates' laughter. _Show-off_. "Eatin' spare ribs and then touchin' your stuff with barbecue sauce still on m'fingers."

"He's not going to say that," Arthur grumbles.

"And, o' course, m'naked hula hoopin'."

"That's _definitely_ you." It's Nash, bent half-backwards under the weight of a box full of paw print patterned swag bags but grinning. Ariadne said they _had_ to have swag bags.

Arthur points. "On the table by the entrance."

On-stage, Eames spreads his arms wide. "Bids, please!"

"I saved my kidney stone from last year," offers a voice from somewhere near the bar.

Eames cups a hand at his ear. "What's that I heard? A _kiss_? Mister, I'll have you know I can't b'bought for less than _ten_ of your juicy smooches."

"Gross." Ariadne curls up her nose, but she's laughing along with the others as she fiddles with the lighting settings. Eames is currently spot lit in purple.

It's been like this all day.

Arthur's feeling the fatigue of a late night going line-by-line— _again_ —through insurance paperwork. He's also feeling the skin-jittery buzz of his second twenty ounces of dark roast and the heart-clenching fear that he's made some horrible miscalculation in the amount of the proceeds from the calendar sales he's turned over into this bachelor auction.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can we _please_ get through an actual bid practice?"

"Sorry, darling, just a bit of fun," Eames says in his own voice. "We're getting there. Sold for ten kisses to the _very_ handsome gentleman with the enticingly large bottle of voddy!"

"That's Mr. Postlethwaite's job," Arthur corrects.

At the podium, Mr. Postlethwaite is looking perplexed, but he rallies at the mention of his name. "Um, yes. Sold, to number…well, I'll be able to see a number at the actual event, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Postlethwaite," Arthur says, as kindly as he can through gritted molars. Mr. Postlethwaite is a sweet man and a dog lover who has been very generous with a discount on the lease of the hall. He's even volunteered for emcee duties. He is also, Arthur suspects, a little drunk. Pretty much always. "Big numbers on the paddles."

Mr. Postlethwaite draws his bushy eyebrows down. "Gotta remember my glasses."

Eames pats him on the back. "We'll call them out for you if you've any trouble."

"My number's sixty-nine!" the bar voice shouts, oh so helpfully. A chorus of snickering fills the room, followed by the sound of glassware breaking. "Uh, whoops. Broom?"

Arthur's other knee starts to bounce. "Is September here?"

"Brownie? Nope, on-shift," Eames says. "But I can play him—"

"Spare us," Arthur interrupts. "October?"

"Here!"

Eames pouts at Arthur, but he tags Robert in as he climbs on-stage. Robert's a quiet, solemn sort of guy, and pretty. The one with the eyelashes. Ariadne has him lit in a nice sort of rosy light that brings out his blue eyes and Arthur relaxes a little as Robert smiles tentatively and Mr. Postlethwaite starts to read his introduction.

"Robert 'Emo' Fischer joined Marion Fire and Rescue two short years ago, but in that time—"

There's a _SHRIEK_ over the sound system and the lighting turns a sick, neon green.

"Shit, sorry," mutters Ariadne, frowning at her control panel.

"This needs to stop happening," Arthur clips out. Robert's beautiful bone structure now looks more like a skull, the manifest death of the shelter, and Arthur's losing it, he knows he's losing it, feels the rage-panic rising. "It _can't_ happen tomorrow."

"I know, I'm on it." Ariadne waves a hand. Like a dismissal.

And it's just—

"Yeah, everyone's fucking _on it_ ," Arthur growls, slamming his clipboard down. "But we only have _one fucking_ _day to get this together_ and does anyone even _give a shit_?"

It's suddenly quiet.

Everyone is looking at him.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

"Sorry, Ari," he breathes. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to—"

He looks at the floor until he's outside.

 

***

 

Arthur breathes.

Blue sky. Birds. Fluffy clouds and stuff. Nice, green lawn. Arthur could just walk across it. Keep walking. How far could he walk? He wore comfortable shoes today. Probably a long way.

"Here."

Arthur turns his head and sees a frosty brown bottle, invitingly capless.

"Thanks," he murmurs, and tips the bottle back for a long, bitter swallow.

Eames sits down beside him on the terrace steps. "You're a bit intense sometimes, love. Not sure if anyone's ever mentioned it."

Arthur snorts into his beer. "Once or twice, yeah. Sorry. About the…thing, in there. I just…"

"You care," Eames says.

Arthur sighs.

Eames bumps his shoulder. "That's not actually a bad thing, darling."

"It is if you're a complete…" A butterfly flutters past and lands on a bush with tufty purple flowers. Arthur watches it, avoiding Eames's disturbingly gentle eyes, and wonders what exactly it is about Eames that makes Arthur want to _tell him things_. "You know why I moved here?"

"Why?"

"To be less of an asshole." Arthur drags a hand through his hair and huffs a little laugh. "New York, in early, stay late, bring in the big contract. That stuff. And I was good at it. But I was…an asshole. And somehow I thought being somewhere _else,_ doing something that _mattered_ was going to change that. Stupid, huh?"

"Trying to make a different life isn't stupid at all. But it can be scary. And difficult."

"Sometimes I wish I could be more like you, though."

"Devastatingly handsome?" Eames raises his eyebrows.  "Ridiculously charming? Terribly skilled with a hose?"

"I mean, look at you. You're new here, too, right? But you're just…having fun. Playing. Not caring so much."

"Ah." Eames's lighthearted smile fades a little. "It is actually possible to do both, you know."

"Maybe for some people," Arthur says wryly. "But I'm definitely not very good at it. That…playing part. And I really don't like not being good at things."

"You just need a bit more practice." Eames rubs his chin thoughtfully. "And perhaps a guru, a mentor, devastatingly handsome and adept at the subtle art of shenanigans."

"Too bad I don't know anyone subtle."

Eames's laugh is really…pretty delightful. "I think you're already better than you think, love. And I note there was no disputation of the 'handsome' part."

Warmth flushes Arthur's cheeks, and he's grateful when the terrace door clicks open.

Ariadne pokes her head out. "Um. Everything okay out here?"

"I'm so sorry, Ari," Arthur says earnestly. "I was an asshole."

"Eh, don't worry about it," she shrugs, stuffing her hands into her pockets and scuffing a sneaker. It makes her look like a little kid and it makes Arthur want to hug her. "I was just wondering if you were going to sit out here on your ass _all_ day. Because there is actual work to do." She taps her left forearm, where there is no watch. "We only have a day."

"I'm not the only asshole, of course," Arthur mutters-to-be-heard to Eames.

Eames's warm chuckle curls under Arthur's ribs, drawing him up along with Eames as Eames clambers to his feet. "I hear Mr. November is up for auction quite soon. Wouldn't want to miss that."

"And me without even a kidney stone to bid," says Arthur.

Eames grins. "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement."

 

***

 

Arthur wakes up the next morning, auction day, before his alarm clock goes off. He has last-minute planning to do, lists to double-check, financial projections to re-run, but he looks down at Edith, who looks back at him from her bed with big, apologetic eyes, like she's wondering if she's done something wrong.

"No," he tells her. "It was me."

Edith's forehead wrinkles.

"Right," Arthur says. "Okay." He shuts his laptop. Pushes his desk chair back. Shoves the coffee table out of the way. "Let's do this."

Edith tilts her head, looking very worried now.

Arthur gets down on all fours and says, "Ruff!"

Edith stares at him like he's lost his mind.

"Ruff!" Arthur says again. He wiggles his butt and slaps the rug with his palms. "Rrrruff!"

Edith's ears pop forward. She stands slowly, stretching her head out to sniff cautiously at Arthur's face.

"Ruff!" says Arthur.

Edith hops backwards and says, "Rff?"

"That's right!" Arthur grins. He paddles the rug with his hands again and wiggles his butt again. "Come and get me!"

Edith's butt wiggles back. "ARP!"

" _Yes!_ "

Edith springs at him. They tussle on the rug. They play with the rainbow ball and the squeaky fish. They fight over the sock with the knot. Arthur sings  "Sexy and I Know It" (after he swears Edith to secrecy-to-the-grave on his knowledge of the lyrics) and dances as Edith bounds around his feet, tongue lolling with excitement.

"That's better, right?" Arthur laughs.

"ARP!" Edith insists, joyfully. "ARP! ARP! ARP!"

Maybe playing isn't so hard.

Maybe Arthur's going to wear his non-smoked, second-best look-at-my-ass suit to this bachelor auction.

And maybe Eames will be looking.

 

***

 

The auction is _packed_ with people _,_ everything looks beautiful, the lights and place settings and flowers, and Mal's photos along the entry hall look beautiful, Ariadne looks beautiful in her flowy scarf thing, all the bachelors look beautiful in tuxedos, the food looks beautiful, like you could _eat_ it all, the lights are fuzzy-beautiful, and Arthur may have had a little too much to drink already.

It's fine, though, he's got it totally under control. He just got here a little too early, and open bar, and he's really never been good at just _waiting,_ and was Eames ever going to fucking get here so he could see Arthur in his suit? Because he really looks good in a suit.

At some point, Ariadne's joined him and switched his gin and tonic for something that tastes suspiciously like water and Arthur sort of has to pee, but he's not going to until Eames gets here.

It turns out all the neck-craning Arthur's been doing isn't really necessary, because when Eames does arrive, he's in no danger of being overlooked.

"You look like if James Bond and a tropical fish had a baby," Arthur says, because it's totally true.

Eames turns at Arthur's hand on his colorful jacket sleeve, peers at him closely, and then snuffles a laugh. "Is that a good thing?"

" _Totally_ good."

"Why, thank you, then, darling. You're looking quite rosy yourself." His hand lingers warmly on Arthur's elbow. His eyes linger warmly, too. Arthur feels very warm. "And hello, Ariadne. You are, as ever, stunning."

"Hey, Eames," Ariadne says. "Nice jacket. Don't worry, I've switched him to water."

"This is the second best," Arthur tells Eames, showing him the lining of his suit. He loves suit linings. They feel like secrets. This one's a deep red paisley. "I would have worn the _first_ best, but it got messed up. Sorry."

The hand on his elbow squeezes. "If this is your second best, I think your first best might kill me, love."

That's a compliment, Arthur's pretty sure. "Hello," Arthur says happily to someone, possibly Mr. Postlethwaite. "Thank you for coming."

"Arthur, let's wait a little while before we talk to people, okay?" Ariadne says, tugging at his non-Eames arm. "Drink your water."

"But I want to talk to Eames."

"I think he was just really nervous," Ariadne sighs.

"I'm _relaxing_ ," Arthur insists.

"Oh, pet."

"Eames, do you paint?"

"I—in a manner of speaking. In fact, much in the manner of the average primary school student. But how did you know that, darling?"

"You had paint on you. When you saw the embarrassing calendar." Arthur taps a finger to his forehead. "I see things. Hey, is that why they call you 'forger'? What's so funny?"

"Oh, god, there's Mal," Ariadne breathes. She's standing on her tiptoes, which Arthur doesn't think helps all that much, but he probably shouldn't say that, looking toward the entryway.

"Go on," Eames says, still chuckling. "I'll take him out for a bit of air."

Arthur takes a sip of his drink and frowns. "Is this _water_?"

"Go on," Eames says again. "She's looking for you, too."

The warm hand on Arthur's elbow becomes a warm hand on his back and then they're outside and the sounds of the party are muffled and Eames's face looks very handsome in the moonlight. His jacket looks like the inside of an aquarium, but his face looks very handsome.

"I can't actually bid on you," Arthur says. He needs to explain in case Eames is offended, because it turns out he really does like Eames. Kind of a lot. "Because then the shelter wouldn't make money. But I totally would."

"Thank you, darling, that's…much appreciated." Eames's hand is on Arthur's elbow again. Sort of…rubbing, which feels nice. "Save me a dance, after?"

"Okay," Arthur says.

He feels happy.

Everything's going to be perfect.

 

***

 

It's not perfect. But it's not terrible. Arthur's alcohol fog starts to lift somewhere around Mr. May. The lights tend to flip randomly from pink to purple to blue, but nobody seems all that upset about it. The sound system has one ear-splittingly loud spasm in the middle of _Hot Stuff_ , but the guests laugh it off.

Cobb shoots finger guns at the audience, but still manages to get a decent bidding war going anyway. Nash puts in a rather sweet appearance, just shy enough to be appealing, and Yusuf brings an enthusiastic group of bidders to their feet with his a huge smile and toss of his black curls. Everyone goes for a high price, higher than Arthur had hoped, which is the complete opposite of terrible.

It's not even that terrible when Eames's winning bid goes to Jessica Summerfield. Really, it isn't.

He's promised Arthur a dance.

 

***

 

Arthur waits.

The winners and their dates get to enjoy a special dinner and dancing in the private VIP Winners' room.

Ariadne and Mal are wrapped around each other on the main dance floor. Mr. Postlethwaite is kicking up his heels with an assortment of gown-clad ladies.

Arthur's head sort of aches now, but he waits. He eats his slightly dry chicken marsala. He takes a turn around the volunteer sign-up tables and checks the rosters. He scribbles the bid totals on a napkin and re-calculates his spreadsheet in his head.

Sometimes when the double doors open to let someone in or out of the VIP room, Arthur catches a glimpse of Eames and Jessica Summerfield. Usually their heads are bent close in conversation. Usually they're laughing.

It's fine. Eames promised Arthur a dance.

Ariadne and Mal have disappeared. Arthur catches Mr. Postlethwaite in between dances to congratulate him on a job well done. Yusuf stops by Arthur's table on his way out and gives him a hug. Robert stops by a little later. Then Nash. Arthur shakes their hands and smiles and thanks them.

He doesn't see Eames and Jessica Summerfield any more when the double doors open.

It's not until Chief Cobb comes out that Arthur sees Eames again. Cobb's arm is still around his winner, an auburn-haired lady in a tight, bright pink dress who's gazing at Cobb like she's captured the sun, but he chats with Arthur as they walk toward the exit and he hands his ticket to the valet. That's when Arthur sees. He's shaking Cobb's hand by the cars and he sees: Eames and his tropical James Bond fish jacket. Climbing into the back of a sleek, burgundy sedan. With Jessica Summerfield.

That part…that part is pretty terrible.

 

***

 

It's fine. Arthur's made a fool out of himself, true. A huge, complete, utter fool. But the auction was a huge success. _That_ gamble paid off. They've made a solid profit and they're going to start rebuilding the shelter. They're going to be able to bring their dogs home. There have even been quite a few expressions of interest in adopting some of the calendar dogs. In the face of that, Arthur's love life is insignificant.

Arthur hangs his second-best suit at the back of his closet and lets Edith sleep in bed with him, tucked up against his heart.

Everything's turned out fine.

 

***

 

"Rrrf?" Edith tilts her head and bristles at the back door of the shelter.

Arthur answers the knock with a swooping, nauseating feeling of dread, because fuck him sideways, somehow it's Eames again, isn't it, and Arthur just _can't_ right now. All he wanted was a nice, quiet Sunday morning, just Edith and him, getting some work done.

"Oh, good!" Yusuf sags with relief when he sees Arthur. "You're here!"

" _Bonjour, ch_ _éri_!" Mal says cheerfully. She follows Yusuf inside as he shoulders past.

"Um?" Arthur says. He sticks his head out of the door and isn't sure if he's is relieved as he expected to be when no one else is there.

"Where should I set this up?" Yusuf gestures to the laptop bag slung over his shoulder. "Oh, and Ariadne says to tell you: Answer your phone once in a while, asshole." He shrugs and gives Arthur a sheepish grin. "Sorry, it's a direct quote."

"I haven't even turned it on this morning," Arthur mutters, because who was he going to talk to anyway? Everyone he knew was busy having post-auction morning sex. "What's going on?"

"Office, over there," Mal snaps and gestures Yusuf toward Arthur's temporary office. He wonders when she's been in there. " _Rapidement_. It is almost time."

Arthur frowns at her as Yusuf walks past the kennels, Edith waddling merrily along after him and trying to sniff his shoes. "Time for _what_? Where's Ariadne?"

" _Non_ , we are sworn to secrecy." Mal says. She laces her hand with his. "Come. You are cross this morning, I think, but not for much longer."

Yusuf has pushed Arthur's laptop aside to set up his own on the desk.

Edith has taken a polite seat in the middle of her bed to watch the proceedings. Her tail is thumping steadily against the fleece.

" _S'il vous pla_ _ît, monsieur._ " Mal gestures Arthur imperiously into his desk chair.

"Here we go," Yusuf says, and taps the touchpad. A video goes full screen. There's a burst of music and a graphic of a rising sun and a sky brightening to blue.

_"Good morning! And welcome to the WMAR Sunday Morning Show! I'm Jessica Summerfield."_

Oh, fuck no. Fucking. No. Fuck him sideways, upside down, and through a window, this is not happening. Arthur grabs the edge of the desk to push himself away. He's going to look like a pathetic asshole, but he really don't care right now. He's not going to sit here and watch—

The camera pans out.

_"We have Eames, one of our brave Marion firefighters, and Ariadne, the owner of the Marion Rescue Shelter joining us this morning, and who is this bundle of joy you've brought with you?"_

_"This is Oliver Wood."_

_"And doesn't he just have the sweetest big, brown eyes? Now, we'd planned to have our good friend Marty the Party Planner with us today to tell us all how to throw the perfect American Revolution-themed birthday party for your three-to-fives, but Marty has very graciously agreed to visit us next week instead so we could make a serious and urgent appeal to you, our viewers, today. Ariadne, Oliver here is one of the sweet, lovable dogs displaced by a terrible fire at the Marion Rescue Shelter several months ago, isn't that right?"_

_"Yes, um, Jessica, that's right. We've been trying to rebuild the shelter after an electrical fire pretty much gutted the place, but it's been, um, slow going and our twenty-three dogs are missing their temporary home. We've been working on raising funds, with a lot—a LOT—of help from the amazingly generous Marion Fire Department—"_

_"My viewers may remember Eames from an interview at the scene on that terrible night. And some of you may have seen just a bit more of him in the Fire and Rescue calendar—can we put that up—there he is! I know! Look at our producer's face. I know, right?"_

_"Tsk, Jessica. You're making me blush."_

_"I'm feeling flushed myself! All that, a hero,_ and _modest. But, Eames, what can you tell us about the_ other _good work this calendar is doing?"_

_"Well, we have eleven of Marion's most handsome firefighting bachelors—and also me—exposing our ambition, as it were, to raise money for the shelter. Along with some of the shelter's loveliest dogs—"_

_"_ Adoptable _dogs."_

_"Loveliest adoptable dogs. All proceeds from calendar sales go to the Marion Rescue Shelter."_

_"But that's not all. Not only did these_ twelve _handsome gentlemen pose for the Fire and Rescue calendar, there was a very special event just last night in the name of the same cause. Ariadne?"_

_"Our bachelor auction! It was a great time, hopefully for everyone, and these guys were such good sports. They really got into the spirit of it and once again donated all the proceeds to the shelter."_

_"Which leads us, thank you Ariadne, into our appeal. Now it sounds as if you and the Marion Fire Department are starting to get some significant fundraising momentum going, but, viewers_ _…I think we can do so much more. Ariadne, you were sharing with me the list of things the shelter will still need, even after the funds from this event are put to use."_

_"Um, yeah. Well. We were, um, actually hoping to expand. Before the fire. We had it all planned so we could bring in at least twenty more dogs. And it's not just the renovations. All our supplies, donated beds and blankets and toys. Food. Flea and tick meds, heartworm pills.  And we could always use more volunteers to spend time with the dogs, help train them or just_ _…love on them while they're waiting to find their forever homes."_

_"Well, you've got at least one volunteer here."_

_"Aw, thanks, Eames."_

_"You see there, viewers. An example for us: the Hero of the Marion Shelter Fire, modest and giving to boot."_

_"Now, Jessica, we've talked about that word."_

_"Eames, I call it like I see it. That's what good journalists do."_

_"I shan't dispute my modesty or general good nature, but if there was anything close to a hero present the night of that fire, it was Arthur."_

_"The shelter manager. I think we have a photo_ _…the back of the calendar?"_

_"Arthur is the one who arranged fire and safety drills and an evacuation plan for the shelter. And it was Arthur, by himself, who got those dogs out of the shelter before we even arrived on-scene. He's as prepared, and as brave, as certainly any firefighter could ever hope to be."_

_"Eames, between your comments at the auction and your comments here today, I'm getting the impression this Arthur might be your_ personal _hero."_

_"He just may be. Ariadne, if I may—these lovely people who run the Marion Rescue Shelter work_ so _hard, and they care_ so _much, and they do wonderful work. I'd be ever so grateful to see them get everything they could possibly need and want for the shelter. For the dogs, to whom both Ariadne and Arthur are most certainly heroes. Right, Ollie?"_

_"Yp!"_

_"Well, viewers, I couldn't have said it better myself. If you can find any room in your hearts, schedules, or wallets for a wonderful cause, calendars are available at the public library and bookstore throughout town, and there's the shelter website address on screen now with links for donations and volunteer opportunities. And thank you very much to Ariadne and Eames—"_

_"And Oliver!"_

_"And of_ course _, Oliver Wood_ , _for visiting our show on such short notice. Next up, Beignet Leroux, and TrendWatch!"_

 

***

 

"Arthur?"

"Hm?"

"You are less cross now?"

Cross? Arthur's fingers do sort of hurt. He notices he's still holding on to the edge of the desk so he lets go and that helps. "Eames…wears glasses?"

Mal snorts, somehow elegantly, behind him.

Yusuf's snort is less elegant. "Those are mine. The bastard actually stole them out of my pocket last night. He thought they'd make him look all smart and serious. He's so full of shit." His grin flashes. "Of course, that's how he got his name."

"Forger?" Arthur frowns. "I thought…painting."

Yusuf raises his eyebrows. "You really don't know?"

Arthur shakes his head.

"Well, we knew he was full of shit the first time we met him. But, you know, in a good way. He's a giant sweetheart. Like a big, friendly dog, himself."

Mal leans back against the wall, just watching Arthur, as Yusuf gets into his story.

"Except the night we responded to the call here, that was his first call-out with us, first week on the job, and all that switched off in a second. And then when he saw that Jessica Summerfield going for you and Ariadne, he switched it back on."

"Oh," Arthur says.

Mal's mouth twitches.

"You'd never have known he was shaken up, right? But when he got back to the station he cried on the couch for an hour about much he loves dogs and we all…fell in love, too. We named him Forger and Cobb told him all PR was his job from now on."

"Oh," Arthur says again.

"He hatched the plan for the calendar and the bachelor auction the next day."

Arthur stares.

" _Now_ , less cross, _ch_ _éri_?" Mal smiles.

 

***

 

They've said they're here to volunteer, so he's put Mal to work sweeping out the indoor kennels, with Edith as her assistant, alternately fleeing from and pouncing on the broom. Yusuf is helping him attack the outdoor kennels—and Arthur is truly attacking the job, scrubbing on his knees, jeans sodden with soapy water.

He might have just a tiny bit of excess energy to work off.

Mal's had a call from Ariadne. She and Eames have left the studio. They're on their way.

Arthur squeezes the grip of the silver hose nozzle, washing down one of the kennel half-walls. Mini-rainbows dance in the silver spray, in the thick summer air.

"Hey, guys!"

"Hey!" Yusuf turns and waves his sponge in greeting. "Great show!"

They've changed clothes somewhere along the way. Ariadne's got her PUSSY WRANGLER t-shirt on again. And Eames is wearing a faded orange t-shirt with the word CRUSH stretched across his chest. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his cargo shorts. He's looking at Arthur. He looks nervous.

"Arthur, did you see!" Ariadne enthuses. "She said the show averages _forty thousand_ viewers, and—ACK!"

The jet of water hits her squarely in the stomach.

" _That_ ," Arthur says calmly, "is for the terrible night I had."

" _What the fuck?"_

"Uh oh," Yusuf says, backing away from the line of fire.

"It will be fine," Mal says from the door to the shelter. She waves Yusuf to a halt and then flicks a gesture at Arthur. "Last night he is thinking that Eames is fucking the newswoman."

Eames's mouth pops open and his startled look bounces between Arthur and Ariadne.

"Oh, shit, Arthur!" Ariadne's eyes go wide. "I didn't think—I just wanted it to be a _surprise_! You've done so much and—AACK!"

"And _that_ is for surprises." Arthur goes for her back as she turns. "And for being amazing."

"Arthur—!" Eames apparently thinks he can be gallant by trying to shield Ariadne. _Fool_. The spray hits him mid-chest, soaking the front of his Orange Crush t-shirt and sending beads of water up to his chin, down his arms. "AUGH!"

"And _that_ is for being so charming."

"ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP! ARP!" Edith is beside herself, doing her best stubby-legged leaps to try to catch the arcing water in her mouth. Yusuf looks frozen in terror, and Mal has doubled over laughing.

"Wet is a good look on you, _minette_ ," she calls merrily to Ariadne.

Arthur advances, hose nozzle poised and aimed at Eames's chest, as Ariadne dodges for cover behind Yusuf.

"Hey!"

Eames holds his hands out like a shield that is completely ineffective against being sprayed in the chest with a garden hose. "Arthur, I _never_ —"

Arthur pumps the trigger. " _That's_ for being so fucking hot." He jiggles the nozzle to soak Eames more efficiently, shoulder to thigh. The green canvas of Eames's cargo shorts darkens, clinging delightfully. "And _this_ is for your accent."

"ARP!" Edith leaps into the air like a frenzied, furry grey fish. "ARP! ARP!"

"Sodding—!" Eames yelps, twisting away from the onslaught.

Arthur catches him in the ribs with a blast of water. "And _this_ is for being _kind_ and just—" he aims the spray at the back of Eames's head. "Wonderful."

"Arthur!" Eames shouts under his arm, water dripping off his chin. "Cease fire!"

Arthur releases his grip slowly. "Yes?"

Eames blinks at him. "You're spraying me with a hose because I'm...kind?"

"And charming, and hot, and wonderful," Arthur says agreeably. "Oh, and British. And I'm just getting started here."

Eames drips for another moment, just staring.

Arthur raises the hose and sprays him again. Just a nice spritz, this time.

Eames scrunches his face up in the spray, wipes his wet arm across his face. "And what, pray, was _that_ one for?"

Water is running down Eames's neck, beads glinting in the sunlight. Edith is tilting her head curiously at her reflection in a puddle. Eames's orange shirt is plastered to his chest. Water sparkles in his eyelashes, drips off his hair, runs down his (incredible) calves into his horrible flip-flops.

Arthur smiles placidly and shrugs, "For fun."

"This is you having _fun_ , is it?"

Arthur glances ever-so-briefly, not-at-all-suggestively at the hose that Yusuf dropped when—oh, look, everyone's vanished back inside—and lifts an eyebrow. "Aren't you the one who always wants to _play_?"

"Darling?"

"Yes?"

"You do realize I'm a firefighter."

"Yes, I do."

"Which means," Eames licks a drop of water off his upper lip, "I do know my way around a hose."

Arthur lowers his head and smiles. "I was really hoping you would." He just catches Eames's indrawn breath before he squeezes the nozzle again.

Eames dives for the second hose and Arthur's vision is suddenly nothing but water spray.

" _That_ , pet, is for that look you just bloody gave me."

" _This_ is for your arms."

"This is for your—"

"ARP! ARP!"

"Agh! Save me, Edie! He's _vicious_!"

" _This_ is for Edith."

"This is for your arse in that _suit."_

_"This_ is for _tattoos."_

" _This_ is for going on a date with me!"

Arthur releases his grip.

So does Eames.

"I haven't gone on a date with you," says Arthur.

Somehow, they're by the fence to the dog run now. Somehow, Arthur is backed up against it. If Eames takes a step forward—

Eames takes a step forward, his fingers brush down Arthur's arm, and Arthur shivers. Eames takes another step forward, and Arthur closes his eyes. Eames's voice is low, his breath warm on Arthur's skin. "Maybe you should."

"Yeah, maybe I—"

Eames kisses him.

 

***

 

****Next Summer** **

 

"ARP!!"

Edith flips her ears forward and prances in place next to Arthur.

Arthur looks where she's looking and smiles. "Eames is here." He _thwaps_ Ariadne in the stomach with his clipboard.

"Ow!"

"Be right back. Aisha's up next."

Ariadne flips the clipboard over and frowns at it. "I thought it was Tadashi."

"Nope, Aisha and J. Alfred. Then Tadashi."

Ariadne grunts acknowledgment.

"Come on, Edie-Pea!" Arthur breaks into a light jog across the park. The air smells like summer grass and ice cream. "Let's go get him!"

"ARP! ARP!"

"Up!" Eames says when they reach him, and Edith jumps into his arms to be covered in kisses.

Arthur only gets one, but that's okay.

"Darling! You wore it!"

" _Hey! Put that down!_ " Arthur shouts as a trio of shirtless firefighters starts playing around with the prop ladder for the shoot. Low grumbling drifts across the grass. Arthur looks down at his t-shirt ruefully. "I think there are still some skeptics on the second half."

SERIOUS FUN, his shirt reads. And only for Eames's stupid, delighted smile would Arthur ever wear such a thing. Ever.

Arthur loves him so much sometimes he can hardly see.

They link hands as they walk together back toward the shoot where the newest members of the squad are being inducted into the wonderful world of topless calendar vamping. Aisha, AKA "Pearl", is sporting crystal flame pasties, much to the apparent flusterment of Yusuf, who is looking very determinedly at a tree branch.

Edith trots along proudly in between them, bumping her nose occasionally against their clasped hands.

"Hey, Dom. Hey, Jess."

"Quiet one?" Cobb asks.

"Yep. All the tires replaced."

"Hey, there, handsome." Jessica Summerfield winks at Eames as she gives Cobb's waist a squeeze. "Here to show these boys how it's done?"

"Well, I'm not a bachelor any more, but…" Eames drawls, like he's actually giving thought to peeling off his shirt at the first available opportunity. "I thought you'd never ask!"

He peels off his shirt.

Arthur just shakes his head.

 

***

 

Things haven't changed all that much, really.

The shelter's adoption rates are rising steadily. They're up to thirty-six dogs housed with the new addition, and they're hoping for fifty spaces after this year's auction.

Eames is actually incredibly nervous about co-hosting in front of a real crowd with Mr. Postlethwaite, but Arthur's pretending he doesn't know that and didn't hear Eames rehearsing in front of the bathroom mirror, because he knows Eames is going to be spectacular.

Arthur accidentally walked in on Ari and Mal once in the shelter's storage room.

It has a lock now.

Yusuf sometimes wears his hair in a bun.

Eames paints really terrible paintings and Arthur hangs the newest one over the sofa.

Edith sleeps on their feet at night and is never allowed to forget how much she's loved.

Arthur still takes things too seriously sometimes.

Eames doesn't take things seriously enough sometimes.

Usually, though, they meet in the middle.

 

***

 

"Group shot! Back of the calendar!" Ariadne shouts. "Circle up!"

Mal settles Tadashi in front of the tripod. "It's all set up, just press the button," she says.

Normally, Arthur wouldn't be too keen to strip off in public. In the case of this t-shirt, though, he'll make an exception.

Fingers ghost over the bare skin of his back and Eames whispers in his ear, "You know you're the most beautiful man in the world, right?"

Arthur leans in to his touch and murmurs back, "I bet you say that to all the boys."

Mal peels off her shirt with a look that dares anyone to say a fucking word, and Ariadne looks at her like she's made entirely of stars.

Yusuf takes the opportunity to closely study Cobb's helmet.

"Actually," Cobb says to Eames. He looks like he's been thinking hard. "Technically, you are still a bachelor."

Eames had said there would be an opening.

He was right.

He squeezes Arthur's hand, hard, and Arthur squeezes back.

"Not after this twenty-third of September."

Yusuf pauses finger-combing his curls.

Ariadne tilts her head, looking a lot like Edith.

Mal's eyebrows rise.

Cobb squints.

"You're all invited," Arthur adds and he's grinning like and idiot and Eames is holding his hand so tight that it hurts.

There's just the faintest puff of a breeze.

Edith wriggles around to look up at all of them, wrinkles her forehead, and proclaims. "ARP!"

Then Arthur is tackled, and he sees Eames get taken down, and there's shouting and hugs, and there's grass in Arthur's ear and a delirious, delighted _ARPing_ ringing in the air and Arthur's so squashed (happy) he can't breathe.

Which is, of course, when Tadashi takes the picture.

 

***

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you nolaespoir and bakerstmel for letting me bounce ideas off you. Thank you involuntaryorange for the emergency beta. Thank you everyone who listened to me bitch and say colors at you while I wrote.


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